Sherlock sociopath aliendetective extraordinaire
by reincarnatedwitch
Summary: Title says it all. Sherlock announces to John that he's an alien. slash. John/Sherlock


**A/N: Hello again Sherlockians :D Ok, my second Sherlock-fic, written in the car on a long and otherwise boring journey. Do please take a minute of your life and use it to review :D Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Oh how I wish I did. **

"You're a what?"

"Don't act so shocked John. Did you really think that a human would be able to deduce all that I can? You lot don't even _look _properly, I can see far more than you ever could."

"But… it's not possible! Aliens don't exist, they're only in films!"

"Well really John, and I did think your observational skills were improving. How can you deny my existence when I'm standing not two feet from you?"

John merely looked his flatmate in the eyes - taking into account the eerie glow that seemed to emanate from his irises - something that had before slipped his notice. In the light of this revelation his skin seemed paler than natural as well - John was a doctor for Christ's sake! How had he not realised before that it wasn't; well, it wasn't _human_.

"You… you had better not be pulling my leg Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyebrow arched high up his forehead at this. "Oh come on John, I think you've realised for yourself by now that I'm telling the truth."

"Well. I suppose so."

"I'm from a small race, bred to be as human-like as possible and employed to try and keep unrest on Earth to a manageable level." Even he was surprised with the speed at which that sentence left his mouth. Sherlock was a lot more scared then he was letting on. He hadn't told many people this secret about himself, and many of the ones he _had _told had shown that they didn't deserve his trust.

There was an awkward silence in which Sherlock studied the shorter man's face in an effort to deduce his emotions, (something he'd never been good at - one of his faults), and John studied the floor - noting a small red stain he hadn't seen before on the carpet. They'd have to get that cleaned, or Mrs Hudson would add it onto their rent. When the tension became almost unbearable, John was the first to crack;

"Cuppa tea?"

For some reason this did not extract the now expected reaction from Sherlock (No. Drinking is boring.). Instead the taller man stepped back from him, but clamped his hands down hard on John's shoulders, effectively stopping him moving to the kitchen. In a move almost the same as he had used in the Blind Banker incident when they were stood alone in the dark on the railway tracks. The memory did funny things to John's heart.

"Is that it?" came the sudden confused question from Sherlock. John wished he had a camera; it wasn't often you saw Sherlock Holmes actually stumped.

"What do you mean? There's some cakes if you want them as well…?"

"No, no. That's not what I meant."

"Then wha-"

" I just announced to you that I'm not human, - that I'm an alien - and your reaction is to offer me a 'cuppa tea'?"

"Well… yes."

"You really are most abnormal." And you wouldn't be exaggerating to describe the look in Sherlock's eyes as almost reverent. "Most people would have run a mile by now, if not for the hills then for the men in white coats."

"Yes, well, I'm not most people. I seem to remember your brother informing me that I was 'very loyal, very quickly'. I guess that I don't really care _what _you are, as long as you're _you_."

If John didn't know any better, he'd have thought the self-proclaimed sociopath actually teared up a little at that.

And before he knew it, he was reaching a hand to stroke through the brown curls that had captured his attention on the first day they met. Sherlock didn't pull away - and instead moved closer into John's hand, until he was almost completely leant into his touch.

John forgot how to think. He forgot about deductions, about measuring the pros and cons of ones actions, about considering the consequences. He no longer cared for thinking about how his actions might affect others; he let instinct take over him for the first time since Afghanistan.

And so he looked up at the ethereal man leant into his hand; his eyes closed and a small smile gracing his lips, and he put his other hand on the other side of his head - and pulled him down until their lips met.

It was brief, but it was one of the best kisses John had ever had.

Especially when, as he was pulling away, the taller man (or alien) gave a small surprised start, but then began kissing back in earnest - placing his own hands around the doctor's hips to keep them close.

And that's when Sherlock Holmes; sociopath alien-detective extraordinaire, found the one man who would always accept him.

And that's when Dr. John H. Watson knew that he'd finally found the one person who he would always want.

And the fact that that man was actually an alien said things about his personality that he didn't care to think about. But any doubt that remained vanished very suddenly when a hot tongue was thrust into his mouth, and the hands around his hips tightened enough to make him groan.

And that was the second time in one night that John Watson forgot how to think.

And the second time in one night that instinct took over.

**Another A/N: Concrit welcomed - especially on how to improve integrating my dialogue :D**


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